


Hands Clasped, They Fell

by JonsaInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: I have a quote for you from Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. I hope can inspire you to write something for Sansa and Jon. “I used to dream about escaping my ordinary life, but my life was never ordinary. I had simply failed to notice how extraordinary it was.” </p><p>Sansa realizes Jon is everything she used to want and wonders why she didn’t noticed it before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Clasped, They Fell

Sansa first feels it when Jon turns to her in a strategy meeting, with Tormund and Davos and his other war advisors staring down their noses. 

“Sansa, what would you advise?”

She studies the figures on the map of the North, yanking at the fingers of her glove under the table. This, of course, is the type of planning she was reared by her lady mother to do, like any future lord’s wife. Her heart swells that Jon realizes she is most trained at this table with this. “The village here is too small to be worth any fortifications or soldiers.”

The lord who rules over the village bristles, and she can tell others do not like her analysis. But she is not done. Sansa stands, and moves the village marker and its supplies to winter town. “Bring the smallfolk to winter town. There is enough empty housing because of the attacks and the Boltons, and they will be well protected by Winterfell’s garrison.”

“I agree, with one minor adjustment.” Davos leans forward, startling the quiet of the council. “Bring those from frozen town as well; they also have fewer villagers and need more protection. We have just enough room for both.”

“If adjustments are made to the servants quarters in Winterfell, we can have more than enough space if they enter the walls in the middle of a battle as well.” Sansa says. She glances over at Jon, hoping he also agrees. He smiles at her when their eyes meet. 

He ducks his head. “Very good, Sansa. Lord Cerwyn, send your people to winter town and they will be protected and cared for its Lady. Now, onto your stores of wheat.” 

A few nights later, they rest together in the quiet of in her solar, more warmth than she can understand filling the room. Sansa minds Winterfell’s accounts as Jon reads over correspondence from the Citadel. She gazes at him in-between pages of numbers, trying to read his mind. At one point, his brow creases, making his face even more solemn than normal.

“What ails you, Jon?”

“My friend Sam has strange reports from Old Town, about the Dragons and Ironborn… it’s not good.” He sighs and sets the parchment he holds down. “We need the dragons and weapons and men, but it seems the South is content to keep playing its games.”

Jon runs a hand through his hair and stands. “I’m off to sleep.”

He sets a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should sleep soon. Your eyes will strain too much if you’re up any later.”

Sansa startles when his lips gently brush her forehead, still unused to his casual displays of affection. “Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight.”

She catches him early the next morning in the training yard, spinning and slicing as three young boys attempt to attack him. This is not something Sansa would normally stop and gaze at, but there is something mesmerizing in the near-dance of his motions, and something beautiful in the gentle way he stops to instruct his opponents on the smaller points of fighting.

He may not officially be a knight, but Jon is as good a warrior and fighter as she’s ever known. Sansa hopes she someday gets to see him fighting in the melee of a tournament. For a moment, she imagines him winning with her favor tied to his arm. The thought shocks her, and she finishes her walk to the godswood before anyone can see the blush that blooms across her face.

When Bran returns home a fortnight later, there is great joy and celebration across the entire castle. But Jon seeks her out after his private talk with their brother, his brow bent inward. 

“I’m not your brother.” He says, the moment her door closes. “I’m not a Stark.”

“I’ve told you before Jon-”

“My mother was  our aunt. Lyanna.” Jon whispers the name like a prayer, his lips caressing each syllable delicately. 

“How-” Sansa steps back, sets her hand against the hearth’s mantle, and takes a deep breath. 

“Bran saw it in the trees. I don’t know how, but it makes more sense than I’d care to admit.” He whispers, his hands shaking. The unspoken part remains in the air between them. He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. He is the true heir to the throne of Westeros.

“This changes nothing.” She affirms. Jon is still their blood, no matter what anyone will say. He is still family.

“This changes everything.”

Before Sansa can respond to the tears that sparkle in the corner of his eye, Jon turns and is gone.

The three Starks discuss it later on, and decide not to share the information with anyone, not even their advisors, until they are more sure of what to do. Sansa is sure everything will be the same, but Jon is right- everything is different.

Suddenly, she feels her breath catching each time she meets Jon’s lingering gaze over the war table. They are one when they make decisions, as they prepare for the wars to come. In his presence, she reaches the zenith of joy, of happiness, of peace. 

Again in her solar one night, once Bran has been wheeled to his own chambers, Sansa feels the other warmth besides the fire that touches her skin. Jon stands to leave, but Sansa catches his hand. 

“Jon.” His name comes out, breathier and heavier than she expected it to.

“Sansa, I-” 

She does not know what he meant to say, because she stands and sets herself in his arms. Sansa kisses him, and it is always like she imagined a true kiss to be. Jon hesitates for seconds before his arms envelope her. He pulls her tight against him, holding her like he may never let her go.

A moment later they draw back, their foreheads rested close together. He says softly, “I didn’t know.”

“You were right. Everything is different.” 

They stay in each others arms for a while longer before Jon excuses himself, setting another deep kiss against her lips.

In the coming days, his love fills her in a mounting crescendo like the whole world opens for them alone. They meet in dark halls, corners and the crypts, ever tuned to secrecy because they cannot be sure how Bran or anyone else will act. But these kisses are followed by touches and promises like prayers, but this time, her god won’t let her down.

Sansa’s dreams once again are like the songs and stories of her childhood. Jon is not the hero she wanted then, but he is the one she needs now. They will vanquish the questioning glances of others together, because she knows that what they have is true. 

She is unafraid to whisper to him, weeks after their trysts began, “I love you.”

And when he says it back, she is certain he means it as sure as she does. What she had wanted, her shining knight, was here all along. It just took her a bit longer to see it.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out and fangirl about Jonsa and other ASOIAF/GOT goodness with me on [tumblr](http://jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


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